


A few drops of crimson

by voxofthevoid



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Hannigram - Freeform, I'm Sorry, M/M, angsty angst, but not really, i like angst okay, love is sometimes not enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven separate moments of loving destruction.   </p><p> </p><p> <br/><i>Perhaps it was written in the threads of fate that they should die at each other’s hand; a tragically fitting end to their tale of poisonous love.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A few drops of crimson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verybadidea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadidea/gifts).



> I actually wrote these for ,lactobacille,with the purpose of making her cry. Don’t judge me.

When the time comes, Will doesn't fight. 

It's an abrupt horror, realization dawning without mercy at the most inopportune moment. 

A soft kiss, their lips moving together in perfect harmony, but he _thinks_ just a little too much and it's ruined, the bliss fading away as sharp denial and distant terror takes its place. 

Hannibal understands, of course. He's always understood Will effortlessly, so why change now. 

And as a knife is snatched from the counter and pressed to his throat, Will muses with a detachment born of shock that the kitchen really wasn't the best place for his epiphany. 

They're still locked in an embrace, Will's arms looped around Hannibal's neck, the other's free hand-the one that is not gripping the knife- is wrapped tight around Will's waist. And it all feels so perfect, so _right_ that for a moment, Will has trouble believing that these arms that has made him feel so safe countless times before are now about to end him. 

He wishes that he kissed Hannibal before now, that he was brave enough to act on his attraction earlier just so he could have at least the memory of few moments with the man untainted by the scalding truth. 

"I don't suppose it'll make a difference, if I were to tell you to stop?" Will murmurs, inwardly marveling at how steady his voice is. 

Hannibal doesn't respond, but the seemingly genuine sadness in his eyes is all the answer Will needs. 

And so, it ends like it began. With a knife and a cannibal. 

Will laughs, a tortured sound, and leans forward so his chin is resting on the other's shoulder. The blade cuts into the delicate skin of his neck. 

"I wish- I... Will you miss me, at least?" He asks, his breath catching on a sob at the end, not out of fear but at a stark longing for the kind, gentle man whom he somehow fell for, with whom he was tentatively beginning to dream of a life. 

"I could never forget you, my dear Will," Hannibal response and Will wonders if the pain coloring his voice has any right to be real. 

He feels no actual pain when the blade slices though skin and flesh but his mind is in searing agony, a broken cry echoing inside like a tormented creature's final scream. 

_I loved y-_

 

* * *

 

Will kills him with a smile and a kiss. 

They're in bed, tangled together in the scarlet sheets. It is rather lazy of them to waste the evening this way. But as lovely as it is outside, Hannibal much prefers the soothing warmth of Will's body against his. 

He smiles, a languid tilt of lips, from where he's lying with his hands folded under his head when Will climbs on top of him with liquid grace, straddling his stomach. 

"Hey there," Will says, voice soft and husky in a way that never fails to send Hannibal's blood singing. 

Hannibal smiles, eyes half-closing as Will gently trails his fingertips along the planes of his face, as if to memorize every dip and curve. 

"You do know I love you, right?" It's a question that needs no response but Hannibal answers anyway, regarding his lover with a fond gaze that no other living creature has ever before witnessed. 

"As I love you." 

The kiss Will presses to his lips is sweet and lingering, their mouths and tongues sliding together in a sensual dance that is no less exquisite for its familiarity. 

Will's hand skim up and down Hannibal's sides, coming to rest on his throat, gently encircling the delicate column. 

"Then you know," Will murmurs when they part to breathe, "how much it hurts me to do this." 

A moment of pure confusion as a suffocating darkness takes over Will's brilliant blues and the hands around Hannibal's neck tightens, cutting of all air. And then, comprehension dawns. 

Will knows. 

Hannibal ties, in vain, to speak, to explain, to tell Will that it doesn't have to be like this, that there's another way. But only choked gasps escape his throat and Will's grip only hardens. 

Hannibal resists, of course he does, but the same wiry strength he's so admired in Will keeps him restrained as the life slowly drains out of him with each futile breath. 

The last thing he sees before his vision darkens, is the smiling, tear-stained face of his beloved. 

 

* * *

 

It takes a while for Hannibal to regain consciousness and Will stays beside him for the entirety of that time, running his gaze along the beautiful, familiar contours of his partner's body. He lingers on his face, tracing with his fingers the sharp cheekbones and the thin, supple lips he so adores. 

It's not shock that paints Hannibal's burgundy eyes when they finally flutter open but a soft kind of wonder. _Awe_ - naked, bountiful awe- directed at Will. 

There's no fear in him either even though he must know what is about to happen now. 

"Will you tell me why you chose our anniversary for this?" Hannibal asks, his tone mild even as he experimentally pulls at the metal cuffs binding his wrists to the cold steel table. He sounds unconcerned about his current predicament, as if his lover of seven years, husband for three of those seven, didn't knock him out on the morning of their wedding anniversary and tie him up for slaughter. 

And Will laughs, amused beyond belief at the sheer gall of his lover. 

"I wanted this to be special. And it doesn't get any special than this, for either of us." 

It was Hannibal's wish to get married on the same day that they first met. Will found it appropriate and even romantic, if he ignored the morbid trail of blood and betrayal that followed. 

They were never really happy together, he and Hannibal. But then, neither of them was ever really capable of being happy with each other. They were content, though. And powerful; stronger together than they could ever be apart. 

Alas, contentment wanes. And power alone is not enough to sustain Will though it might Hannibal. 

Will thinks, as he moves to cup Hannibal's face with both hands, that both of them has always known that they would end like this. They loved destruction too much for the outcome to be anything different. It was just been a matter of _when_ and _who_. 

"I'll miss you," Will murmurs, brushing their lips together in a fond kiss. It's not a lie. 

Hannibal just smiles in response and there's a wistful tinge to it that touches the sweet, loving Will Graham of old who slumbers within the creature that emerged from the chrysalis. The creature that Hannibal nourished and nurtured until it flourished into something that surpassed its master. 

Will trails his mouth along Hannibal's face, just softly touching, and it's the old Will inside that breathes tenderness into the caress. Remnants of an old affection. 

He pulls back with a final kiss to Hannibal's forehead, gazing for a long, long moment into the face that he often sees in the mirror in place of his own. 

Hannibal doesn't flinch when Will traces a thin red line down his throat with the fine edge of a scalpel. He lets out a shuddering breath that seems born more out of anticipation than dread as the sharp blade stills directly on top of his steadily beating heart. 

Will smiles, pride and pleasure and a million other things that defy definition welling up within him. 

"I will honor you, Hannibal. You'll be so beautiful." 

 

* * *

 

It is with remarkable calm that Will reacts when Hannibal finally calls on him, tracking the erstwhile profiler to a remote corner of Louisiana with the unwavering persistence of a bloodhound. 

The unkempt, hunched figure who opens the door to Hannibal's polite knocks is barely recognizable as the man who was-still is, in spite of all the pain they've inflicted on each other- his dearest friend. There is no alarm in Will's eyes when they meet Hannibal's but for the very first time, Hannibal is distracted from that treasured azure gaze by the thick stripes of mottled skin ruining the symmetry of Will's handsome face. 

He is still so heartbreakingly beautiful. 

The first sign that something is wrong is the way Will retreats inside without a word, leaving the door wide open in silent invitation. Hannibal enters, trying to ignore the first stirrings of unease inside him, and firmly closes the battered door behind him, dousing the house in almost total darkness. The lights are all off, the blinds all drawn and he can only barely make out Will's form of the couch in the center of the room. 

The place _reeks_ of alcohol and desolation. 

"Have you come to finish the job?" 

It takes a moment for Hannibal to make out the words, the voice uttering them too hoarse and slurred to be clear. There's a suspicious lack of emotion in the question, Will sounding absolutely blank in a way that raises a few alarms. Without replying, Hannibal goes to kneel before the other man, raising his head forcefully when Will fails to respond. 

And what he sees in Will's eyes makes his blood run cold. 

_I won't be that easy to break, Hannibal._ He remembers the words and the cutting grin on Will's lips as he pressed them to Hannibal's skin. He remembers the exquisite blend of delight and curiosity they aroused in him; the need to test his beloved's limits warring with sheer joy at possessing such a wonderful creature. 

Hannibal knows then that he did finally succeed sometime in the last years in finding those limits and shattering them. 

Neither of them speak after that. The silence between them is bitter enough to still their tongues and seal their lips. 

Hannibal doesn't stop Will when he returns his attention to a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. 

And Will doesn't stop Hannibal when he seeks out the other's hand to grip it tight with agonized desperation. 

Will falls asleep, soon after. A senseless slumber induced by the alcohol. He goes quietly, without a fight, when Hannibal steals his breath with gentle hands and murmured apologies. 

Hannibal thinks that he might even be grateful for the end. And he tries to ignore how the tears on his face feel like blood. 

_Goodbye._

 

* * *

 

_The dogs are safe. The dogs are safe. The dogs are safe._

It's a desperate refrain running through Will's mind as he lies on the cold, hard floor, trying not to look at the grotesque remains of the man-beast beside him. He wonders whether he should be insulted that after being so intimately involved with a plethora of killers who were more artists than madmen, it's a mere boy who wished to become something he could never be that manages to finally kill him. 

 

 _Hannibal would be disappointed,_ he thinks and feels his lips curve into a grave mockery of a smile. _Serves him right._

Will can hear frantic barking and scratching from the door to his kitchen, his pack sensing the danger and trying to get to him. He wishes he could let them out, if only so he wouldn't die alone. The parts of his mind that are not focusing on the excruciating pain in his stomach are too fixated on the familiar sounds of his faithful companions to pick up on the soft steps approaching his fallen form. 

Will automatically lets out a choked gasp of surprise when a cool hand comes to rest on his forehead and a complex mix of emotions- anger, fear, hate, love and above all, suffocating relief- as Hannibal's sculpted face comes into view, the placid mask ripped from it to be replaced by blatant worry. 

"I sent someone to kill you... You sent someone to kill me," Will rasps, voice thick with pain. "I guess you had better luck. As usual." 

Hannibal doesn't answer but Will doesn't need him to. They both know all too well that _Will's_ death was never the outcome he desired. 

Tier is dead, of course. Pity Will was just a bit too slow to avoid harm himself. Pity, because life was just starting to become... interesting. 

"I called 911. They'll be here soon. You will be alright, Will." 

Hannibal sounds so sure, so calm that Will would be tempted to believe him if it weren't for how he could feel his life pouring out of him at an alarming rate, the harsh conviction that _he's going to die here_ only rising with every moment that slips by. And he knows that Hannibal is only too aware of this. It does make him wonder which one of them the empty reassurance is meant for. 

He groans, more in surprise than anything else, when Hannibal lifts his head to place it on his lap, one hand stroking Will's cheek with agonizing tenderness. The other is placed atop Will's hands where they're resting on his abdomen, fruitlessly trying to staunch the blood flow. With a tired sigh, Will turns his head to press his face against Hannibal's clothed body, breathing in his scent. 

"Your cologne makes me feel safe," Will murmurs in a daze, "Even now. Always had trouble shaking associations once formed." 

The hand on his cheek creeps into his hair, fingers threading through the coarse curls and Will idly wonders if Hannibal would cry when he died. 

It'd be nice if he did. Nice to know that he'd be mourned. 

"Stay with me, Will," Hannibal tells him. He sounds strange, raw and open. 

"Where else would I go?" He responds automatically. He's certain that a part of him will always live on in Hannibal's memory, existing inside him for as long as he lives. That'd be nice too. 

An intense jolt of pain sends Will flailing, his body shuddering helplessly. He presses his face harder against Hannibal, vaguely imaging what it would feel like to melt into the man. It would be a comforting darkness, much like the one he can sense hovering around the edges of his conscience. 

"You will be alone, you know," Will says, sad and happy and regretful and gleeful all at once. "Without me. You'll be so lonely." 

"Will..." 

He doesn't hear anything after that, isn't even sure whether Hannibal says something after that. 

But he does faintly feel something wet dripping on the side of his face right before he falls asleep. 

 

* * *

 

 _Third time's the charm_ , Hannibal thinks with a feeling that's not quite amusement as he calmly holds Will's gaze, more intent on reacquainting himself with those intricate little orbs he's missed so desperately than to pay any mind to the lethal weapon aimed at him. 

It's the third time Hannibal is finding himself in a kitchen with Will Graham pointing a gun at him. He escaped unscathed the last two times, careful manipulation and genuine unwillingness on Will's part assisting him tremendously. But now there's a cold, hard look in Will's lovely eyes that screams that there is only one way this is going to end. 

And Hannibal can't really bring himself to even be disappointed about his rapidly approaching end. Death is a reasonable price to pay if only for the chance to see his Will like this again- spirited, determined and so gloriously alive. 

He has been so terribly lonely this past year. 

"It's good to see you again, Will." Hannibal tells him, wanting to stride over to the other man and draw him against his body, to hold him tight and close, to feel his breath on his skin and hear their hearts beating in tandem once again. 

He sighs and holds his ground, painfully aware of how he destroyed any right he might ever have had to do anything of the sort. 

Will doesn't respond, instead taking a single step forward in a manner reminiscent of a similar scene in Baltimore. Will had not wished to kill Hannibal then. Not truly. But now, there is little doubt that it's exactly what he intends. 

"Are you really going to use a gun, Will?" The disappointment in Hannibal's voice is not faked. In the darker corners of his mind where self-preservation holds no sway...he dreams of Will's hands around his throat, slowly draining him of life. "You told me once that guns lack intimacy." 

Hannibal knows that was the wrong thing to say when Will's face twists in pain and fury, eyes flashing with wild contempt. He takes another swift step forward, his finger tightening on the trigger. 

_"You don't deserve intimacy_!" Will snarls through clenched teeth and _that_ hurts Hannibal more than the single bullet that rips through his throat. 

It hurts, of course, but Hannibal is no stranger to pain and can think past it. He also finds that he's not as bothered as he should be by the fatal wound. He's always known on a deep, subconscious level ever since he walked away from Will's dying form that night in Baltimore, that it would ultimately end like this; a fitting climax to their bloody and beautiful story. 

Yet, in spite of his acceptance, he feels something like regret rise inside for everything they could have had if only they both chose differently. 

Hannibal realizes his eyes slipped close only when they flash open at the sensation of a warm body pressing along his own. Will's hand come to gently brush his torn throat, simply touching without any trace of remorse, and Hannibal tries to call his name, only for more blood to pour out of his mouth. 

"I wish we could've had a different ending," Will murmurs, pressing a light kiss to Hannibal's cheek and wrapping his arms around him in a macabre embrace. Hannibal’s blood pools around their heads, painting their faces with glistening crimson. It's a gorgeous image to close his eyes to. 

_So do I._

   

* * *

 

Will's invitation is an unexpected pleasure, not merely because it is another step taken to deepen their ever growing intimacy but due to choice of meat. 

Though he knew in that moment in Jack's office, when Will looked at him with eyes lit from within by a beautiful fire, that Freddie Lounds met her deserved end in the hands of none other than his beloved, he was not expecting the woman to end up on his plate as per his original plan. He did not dare to believe that Will evolved to such a glorious extent. 

But the sharp grin that graced Will's lips and the mischievous glint his eyes held when he asked Hannibal to come over to Wolf Trap for dinner right in front of the F.B.I headquarters are all the clues he needs to realize precisely who Will is going to serve him. The sheer happiness Hannibal feels is more than enough to conquer his doubts about Will's culinary expertise. 

It is the thought that counts, after all. 

He marvels for the remainder of the day at the giddy excitement dominating his mind; the knowledge that this gesture marks Will's absolute acceptance of him affecting him more intensely that he could have hoped to foresee. 

And that night, when the door to Will's humble house opens to reveal the man himself with his lips curved in that soft smile meant only for Hannibal, he feels his entire being swell with an emotion that is the closest thing to love he can feel. 

~

Will takes his time with the preparation, pouring more time and care into the chore than he's ever felt the need to do before. It's alarmingly easy to lose himself to the serenity of it and by the time he's finished, Will can understand why Hannibal loves this so much, why he views this as an art form. 

It's a heavy burden, this understanding. 

He's ready when the doorbell rings, the food plated and the table arranged. He hastily turns off the light in the dining room to rush for the door, lips curling into an unconscious smile when he sees Hannibal. The other man looks happy and is making no effort whatsoever to hide the fact. The ridiculously sweet expression gracing his features at the sight of Will is nearly enough to convince him to abandon his plan, confess everything and run away with Hannibal to some place far, far away. 

Nearly. 

Will greets him with a kiss, sweet and gentle at first before turning deep and filthy, pressing Hannibal to the wall and holding on to him for dear life. Hannibal looks dazed and well-kissed when they part. Will imagines that he is much the same. 

He wonders if Hannibal is curious about the conspicuous absence of his dogs, dropped off at Jimmy’s where they will be safe. 

Silently, he takes Hannibal's hand in his and leads him to the dining room. Hannibal's eyes widen in shocked delight when he enters the small, modest room to see the fare arranged lovingly for him, lit only by the golden glow of numerous candles. 

"This is... beautiful, Will." 

Will smiles, replies with a lingering press of lips before stepping away to pull out a chair for Hannibal. He takes the seat without comment though he does throw Will a fondly amused glance as he does. Instead of taking the opposite chair, Will simply observes Hannibal for a lengthy moment, feasting his eyes on the familiar lines of him. He calmly climbs into his lap, settling comfortably. Hannibal raises an eyebrow in question but wraps his arms around Will anyway, holding him close and secure. 

Will reaches behind him to take Hannibal's plate in hand, spearing a small cube of meat with the fork and dipping it in the sauce he painstakingly made himself. He brings the meat to his lips, hyperaware of Hannibal's heated gaze and chews once, twice before leaning forward until his lips are brushing the other's. Hannibal takes the hint and parts his lips without complaint, allowing Will to feed him with a kiss. Then he does it again. And again and again and again. 

Will ignores how the food tastes dark and bitter in his tongue. It's only in his mind. He made sure of that. 

It's Hannibal who succumbs first, no doubt as a result of the greater amount he has ingested. Will holds him steady with one hand and keeps looking into Hannibal's incredulous eyes as he swallows a few more bites, welcoming the poison with a feeling akin to relief. 

They fall together, tumbling to the floor when their bodies weaken, the plate still half full of food shattering like they once did. 

"Oh, Will." It's the only thing Hannibal says and he doesn't sound angry. Just sad. 

"It'll be alright," Will tells him, voice thickened with the beginnings of eternal slumber. "We're together." 

He buries his face in the sweat-slick crook of Hannibal's neck and ignores the pain wrecking his body to focus on the throb of their pulses as they continue to fall.

   


End file.
